MRS. Bruce, and every member
of her family, were exceedingly kind to me. I was thankful for the blessings
of my lot, yet I could not always wear a cheerful countenance.
I was doing harm to no one; on the contrary, I was doing all the good I
could in my small way; yet I could never go out to breathe God's free air
without trepidation at my heart.
This seemed hard; and I could not think it was a right state of things
in any civilized country.

From time to time I received news from my good old grandmother. She
could not write; but she employed others to write for her. The following
is an extract from one of her last letters:--

Dear Daughter: I cannot hope to see you again on earth; but I pray
to God to unite us above, where pain will no more rack this feeble body
of mine; where sorrow and parting from my children will be no more. God
has promised these things if we are faithful unto the end. My age and feeble
health deprive me of going to church now; but God is with me here at home.
Thank your brother for his kindness. Give much love to him, and tell him
to remember the Creator in the days of his youth, and strive to meet me
in the Father's kingdom. Love to Ellen and Benjamin. Don't neglect him.
Tell him for me, to be a good boy. Strive, my child, to train them for
God's children. May he protect and provide for you, is the prayer of your
loving old mother.

These letters both cheered and saddened me. I was always glad to have
tidings from the kind, faithful old friend of my unhappy youth; but her
messages of love made my heart yearn to see her before she died, and I
mourned over the fact that it was impossible. Some months after I returned
from my flight to New England, I received a letter from her, in which she
wrote, "Dr. Flint is dead. He has left a distressed family. Poor old man!
I hope he made his peace with God."

I remembered how he had defrauded my grandmother of the hard earnings
she had loaned; how he had tried to cheat her out of the freedom her mistress
had promised her, and how he had persecuted her children; and I thought
to myself that she was a better Christian than I was, if she could entirely
forgive him. I cannot say, with truth, that the news of my old master's
death softened my feelings towards him. There are wrongs which even the
grave does not bury. The man was odious to
me while he lived, and his memory is odious now.

His departure from this world did not diminish my danger. He had
threatened my grandmother that his heirs should hold me in slavery after
he was gone; that I never should be free so long as a child of his survived.
As for Mrs. Flint, I had seen her in deeper afflictions than I supposed
the loss of her husband would be, for she had buried several children;
yet I never saw any signs of softening in her heart. The doctor had died
in embarrassed circumstances, and had little to will to his heirs, except
such property as he was unable to grasp. I was well aware what I had to
expect from the family of Flints; and my fears were confirmed by a letter
from the south, warning me to be on my guard, because Mrs. Flint openly
declared that her daughter could not afford to lose so valuable a slave
as I was.

I kept close watch of the newspapers for arrivals; but one Saturday
night, being much occupied, I forgot to examine the Evening Express as
usual. I went down into the parlor for it, early in the morning, and found
the boy about to kindle a fire with it. I took it from him and examined
the list of arrivals. Reader, if you have never been a slave, you cannot
imagine the acute sensation of suffering at my heart, when I read the names
of Mr. and Mrs. Dodge, at a hotel in Courtland Street. It was a third-rate
hotel, and that circumstance convinced me of the truth of what I had heard,
that they were short of funds and had need of my value, as they valued
me; and that was by dollars and cents. I hastened with the paper to Mrs.
Bruce. Her heart and hand were always open to every one in distress, and
she always warmly sympathized with mine. It was impossible to tell how
near the enemy was. He might have passed and repassed the house while we
were sleeping. He might at that moment be waiting to pounce upon me if
I ventured out of doors. I had never seen the husband of my young mistress,
and therefore I could not distinguish him from any other stranger. A carriage
was hastily ordered; and, closely veiled, I followed Mrs. Bruce, taking
the baby again with me into exile. After various turnings and crossings,
and returnings, the carriage stopped at the house of one of Mrs. Bruce's
friends, where I was kindly received. Mrs. Bruce returned immediately,
to instruct the domestics what to say if any one came to inquire for me.

It was lucky for me that the evening paper was not burned up before
I had a chance to examine the list of arrivals. It was not long after Mrs.
Bruce's return to her house, before several people came to inquire for
me. One inquired for me, another asked for my daughter Ellen, and another
said he had a letter from my grandmother, which he was requested to deliver
in person.

They were told, "She has lived here, but she has left."

"How long ago?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Do you know where she went?"

"I do not, sir. " And the door was closed.

This Mr. Dodge, who claimed me as his property, was originally a
Yankee pedler in the south; then he became a merchant, and finally a slaveholder.
He managed to get introduced into what was called the first society, and
married Miss Emily Flint. A quarrel arose between him and her brother,
and the brother cowhided him. This led to a family feud, and he proposed
to remove to Virginia. Dr. Flint left him no property, and his own means
had become circumscribed, while
a wife and children depended upon him for support. Under these circumstances,
it was very natural that he should make an effort to put me into his pocket.

I had a colored friend, a man from my native place, in whom I had
the most implicit confidence. I sent
for him, and told him that Mr. and Mrs. Dodge had arrived in New York.
I proposed that he should call upon them to make inquiries about his friends
at the south, with whom Dr. Flint's family were well acquainted. He thought
there was no impropriety in his doing
so, and he consented. He went to the hotel, and knocked at the door of
Mr. Dodge's room, which was opened by the gentleman himself, who gruffly
inquired, "What brought you here? How came you to know I was in the city?"

"Your arrival was published in the evening papers, sir; and I called
to ask Mrs. Dodge about my friends at home. I didn't suppose it would give
any offence."

"Where's that negro girl, that belongs to my wife?"

"What girl, sir?"

"You know well enough. I mean Linda, that ran away from Dr. Flint's
plantation, some years ago. I dare say you've seen her, and know where
she is."

"Yes, sir, I've seen her, and know where she is. She is out of your
reach, sir."

"Tell me where she is, or bring her to me, and I will give her a
chance to buy her freedom."

"I don't think it would be of any use, sir. I have heard her say
she would go to the ends of the earth, rather than pay any man or woman
for her freedom, because she thinks she has a right to it. Besides, she
couldn't do it, if she would, for she has spent her earnings to educate
her children."

This made Mr. Dodge very angry, and some high words passed between
them. My friend was afraid to come where I was; but in the course of the
day I received a note from him. I supposed they had not come from the south,
in the winter, for a pleasure excursion; and now the nature of their business
was very plain.

Mrs. Bruce came to me and entreated me to leave the city the next
morning. She said her house was watched, and it was possible that some
clew [clue] to me might be obtained. I refused to take her advice. She
pleaded with an earnest tenderness, that ought to have moved me; but I
was in a bitter, disheartened mood. I was weary of flying from
pillar to post. I had been chased during half my life, and it seemed
as if the chase was never to end. There I sat, in that great city, guiltless
of crime, yet not daring to worship God in any of the churches. I heard
the bells ringing for afternoon service, and, with contemptuous sarcasm,
I said, "Will the preachers take for their text, 'Proclaim liberty to the
captive, and the opening of prison doors to them that are bound'? or will
they preach from the text, 'Do unto others as ye would they should do unto
you'?" Oppressed Poles and Hungarians could find a safe refuge in that
city; John Mitchell was free to proclaim in the City Hall his desire for
"a plantation well stocked with slaves;" but there I sat, an oppressed
American, not daring to show my face. God forgive the black and bitter
thoughts I indulged on that Sabbath day! The Scripture says, "Oppression
makes even a wise man mad;" and I was not wise.

I had been told that Mr. Dodge said his wife had never signed away
her right to my children, and if he could not get me, he would take them.
This it was, more than any thing else, that roused such a tempest in my
soul. Benjamin was with his uncle William in California, but my innocent
young daughter had come to spend a vacation with me. I thought of what
I had suffered in slavery at her age, and my heart was like a tiger's when
a hunter tries to seize her young.

Dear Mrs. Bruce! I seem to see the expression of her face, as she
turned away discouraged by my obstinate mood. Finding her expostulations
unavailing, she sent Ellen to entreat
me. When ten o'clock in the evening arrived and Ellen had not returned,
this watchful and unwearied friend became anxious. She came to us in a
carriage, bringing a well-filled trunk for my journey--trusting that by
this time I would listen to reason. I yielded to her, as I ought to have
done before.

The next day, baby and I set out in a heavy snow storm, bound for
New England again. I received letters from the City of Iniquity, addressed
to me under an assumed name. In a few days one came from Mrs. Bruce, informing
me that my new master was still searching for me, and that she intended
to put an end to this persecution by buying my freedom. I felt grateful
for the kindness that prompted this offer, but the idea was not so pleasant
to me as might have been expected. The more my mind had become enlightened,
the more difficult it was for me to consider myself an article of property;
and to pay money to those who had so grievously oppressed me seemed like
taking from my sufferings the glory of triumph. I wrote to Mrs. Bruce,
thanking her, but saying that being sold from one owner to another seemed
too much like slavery; that such a great obligation could not be easily
cancelled; and that I preferred to go to my brother in California.

Without my knowledge, Mrs. Bruce employed a gentleman in New York
to enter into negotiations with Mr. Dodge. He proposed to pay three hundred
dollars down, if Mr. Dodge would sell me, and enter into obligations to
relinquish all claim to me or my children forever after. He who called
himself my master said he scorned so small an offer for such a valuable
servant. The gentleman replied, "You can do as you choose, sir. If you
reject this offer you will never get any thing; for the woman has friends
who will convey her and her children out of the country."

Mr. Dodge concluded that "half a loaf was better than no bread,"
and he agreed to the proffered terms.
By the next mail I received this brief letter from Mrs. Bruce: "I am rejoiced
to tell you that the money for your freedom has been paid to Mr. Dodge.
Come home to-morrow. I long to see you and my sweet babe."

My brain reeled as I read these lines. A gentleman near me said,
"It's true; I have seen the bill of sale." "The bill of sale!" Those words
struck me like a blow. So I was sold at last! A human being sold in the
free city of New York! The bill of sale is on record, and future generations
will learn from it that women were articles of traffic in New York, late
in the nineteenth century of the Christian religion. It may hereafter prove
a useful document to antiquaries, who
are seeking to measure the progress of civilization in the United States.
I well know the value of that bit of paper; but much as I love freedom,
I do not like to look upon it. I am deeply grateful to the generous friend
who procured it, but I despise the miscreant
who demanded payment for what never rightfully belonged to him or his.

I had objected to having my freedom bought, yet I must confess that
when it was done I felt as if a heavy load had been lifted from my weary
shoulders. When I rode home in the cars I was no longer afraid to unveil
my face and look at people as they passed. I should have been glad to have
met Daniel Dodge himself; to have had him seen me and known me, that he
might have mourned over the untoward circumstances which compelled him
to sell me for three hundred dollars.

When I reached home, the arms of my benefactress
were thrown round me, and our tears mingled. As soon as she could speak,
she said, "O Linda, I'm so glad it's all over! You wrote to me as if you
thought you were going to be transferred from one owner to another. But
I did not buy you for your services. I should have done just the same,
if you had been going to sail for California to-morrow. I should, at least,
have the satisfaction of knowing that you left me a free woman."

My heart was exceedingly full. I remembered how my poor father had
tried to buy me, when I was a small child, and how he had been disappointed.
I hoped his spirit was rejoicing over me now. I remembered how my good
old grandmother had laid up her earnings to purchase me in later years,
and how often her plans had been frustrated. How that faithful, loving
old heart would leap for joy, if she could look on me and my children now
that we were free! My relatives had been foiled in all their efforts, but
God had raised me up a friend among strangers, who had bestowed on me the
precious, long-desired boon. Friend! It
is a common word, often lightly used. Like other good and beautiful things,
it may be tarnished by careless handling; but when I speak of Mrs. Bruce
as my friend, the word is sacred.

My grandmother lived to rejoice in my freedom; but not long after,
a letter came with a black seal. She had gone "where the wicked cease from
troubling, and the weary are at rest."

Time passed on, and a paper came to me from the south, containing
an obituary notice of my uncle Phillip. It was the only case I ever knew
of such an honor conferred upon a colored person. It was written by one
of his friends, and contained these words: "Now that death has laid him
low, they call him a good man and a useful citizen; but what are eulogies
to the black man, when the world has faded from his vision? It does not
require man's praise to obtain rest in God's kingdom." So they called a
colored man a citizen! Strange words to be uttered in that region!

Reader, my story ends with freedom; not in the usual way, with marriage.
I and my children are now free! We are as free from the power of slaveholders
as are the white people of the north; and though that, according to my
ideas, is not saying a great deal, it is a vast improvement in my condition.
The dream of my life is not yet realized. I do not sit with my children
in a home of my own. I still long for a hearthstone
of my own, however humble. I wish it for my children's sake far more
than for my own. But God so orders circumstances as to keep me with my
friend Mrs. Bruce. Love, duty, gratitude, also bind me to her side. It
is a privilege to serve her who pities my oppressed people, and who has
bestowed the inestimable boon of freedom on me and my children.

It has been painful to me, in many ways, to recall the dreary years
I passed in bondage. I would gladly forget them if I could. Yet the retrospection
is not altogether without solace;
for with those gloomy recollections come tender memories of my good old
grandmother, like light, fleecy clouds floating over a dark and troubled
sea.